Thaw
by Peppermintee
Summary: “It used to be…” she repeated. “Yes, well, nothing’s what it used to be.” [DMHG and RWHG if you squint real hard][oneshot]


**Disclaimer:** Not mine. (Duh)

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**Thaw**

It was chilly for autumn.

Tugging at the collar of her robes and wrapping it tighter, Hermione Granger turned the shabby street corner, wand at the ready.

She paused suddenly and listened intently. Breathing. Rasping breathing. Just around the next corner.

Instinctively pressing herself up against the grimy wall, she steadied her own breathing and prepared for a face off, her heart beat increasing rapidly.

(_thump thump thump thump_)

It seemed loud even to her.

It seemed like she hardly remembered a time when this war wasn't happening. When friends and family weren't dying. When life actually followed some sort of procedure.

When was the last time she'd laughed without a bitter edge, without that nagging feeling of guilt? _(because she's got no right to be happy when others are dying)_

When she was younger she used to play the card game "war" with her friends, for fun. It could just go on and on and on, without any sign of ending. She wished that this was still a card game, meaningless and cheap, and at any given time could be reshuffled and stored back into that little cardboard box _(and I'm still playing that never ending game of war)._

Too bad this time it was real.

She pointed her wand at chest level and made a list of hexes and curses in her head, ready to use at will.

It had taken a long time for her to get to this ranking. By muggle ranks, she might have been a general. But here she was, sneaking through already defeated enemy territory, looking for survivors and dealing with them appropriately.

And as if on a whim, she leapt from her hiding into the alleyway.

"Stupefy!"

Only her target was neither upright nor in any condition to fight back and the spell ricocheted off the parallel wall - and as she made her way over to him or her _(or it)_, it croaked out wearily.

"I suppose you're here to take me prisoner."

Well, she thought, it you're on my side I heal you, and if not, I might consider taking you prisoner if you're lucky and I'm feeling very very nice. But she kept that to herself because she wasn't feeling very very nice, and she doubted he was lucky.

He squinted up at her blearily from his position against the brick wall, and realized that he recognized her. And she probably recognized him too, but her expression remained the same and the only giveaway was a slight, barely audible hitch in breathing.

She'd probably been trained to conceal feelings, to seek out every little sign of weakness… just like they all had.

Once upon a time, surprise to her had meant going shopping with her mother and getting to keep the coin that came out of the shopping cart at the end. It had meant finding out that she was a witch when she'd been an outcast at home. It'd meant getting a rose from Ron during graduation and getting lost in his eyes. Not this.

"What on earth happened to you, Draco Malfoy…" she murmured as she reached down to brush a lock of light hair to reveal his molten eyes.

"Everything and absolutely nothing." He shifted into a more upright sitting position. "Funny you should ask…"

She straightened up and struggled to return to her indifferent air.

"It's been eight years, Malfoy. We don't take prisoners anymore."

He paused. "Then what do you do with – "

He looked into her eyes and thought he saw a half formed apology.

"…oh."

He looked around, at the dusty rubbish bin overflowing with cigarette butts and old coffee cups, at the empty bottle of rum in his hands, at the last rays of the setting sun that was almost kind of pretty, at the hem of Granger's muddy robes… and wondered it they were the last things that he'd see.

"Oh."

He felt a bit of irritation crawl into his system. What right did she have to decide his fate for him? What if he didn't like her decision? For Merlin's sake, he was Draco _Malfoy_, born for success, born to thrive. Hell, he was practically _royal_. Born a few centuries earlier, and he _would've _been.

"Aren't you guys supposed to be the good ones?" he muttered bitterly. "The ones that actually abide the rules, show mercy?"

"So hospitality from us is an expectation now, isn't it?" she asked, matching his tone. "Well, I'll show you mercy."

Her eyes narrowed.

"We've got seven year olds out there shooting killing curses and dying defending what's theirs. They weren't even born when this damn war started."

She jabbed him in the chest, causing him to choke up blood. "Do you call that mercy?"

She turned around and the back of her trembling hands brushed her eyelids ever so slightly.

"One of my best friends is on a mangled stretcher in what's left of St. Mungo's in a coma because some twelve year old hit him with God knows what and we're not sure if he's going to wake again," she spat (_it wasn't my fault it wasn't my fault)_. "Do you call that mercy?" (_I couldn't have stopped him from shielding me. I couldn't have stopped him I couldn't have stopped him…)_

"This isn't about mercy or humanity anymore."

He stared at the filth between his feet. "It used to be."

"It used to be…" she repeated. "Yes, well, nothing's what it used to be."

She stood over his huddled form and gazed down icily. Eight years… too long. She'd stopped feeling remorse long ago. Really, what more were they then two childish words resembling those from a muggle magician act? And it wasn't as if death was all that bad compared to this living hell.

One life, one flame, one star falls from the sky. It was a wonder there were still stars at night.

_(avada kedavra)_

She closed her eyes and took a breath and –

"D'you think – we could work out… some sort of a deal…?" he blurted out desperately.

A flutter of irritation swept through her.

"If we'd had any intelligence and made a deal years ago none of this would be happening."

She paused and sighed. Maybe she'd humour him just this once.

"I'm listening."

"We – we went to school together. Seven years! That's gotta mean something…?"

She snorted. "Seven years of hating each other… not so much."

But the mention of Hogwarts jolted her conscience and something in her melted. (_not her heart couldn't possibly be her heart it was frozen too solid to thaw_)

"And besides," she continued, "this war has been going on longer than that… and will probably go on much longer than even this…"

A blast of cold air came and she shuddered. "…but…"

Why were these salty tears penetrating her eyelids? But of course… it was guilt again.

"…but?"

"But sometimes it gets to the point where I can't take it anymore!" she blurted out.

He looked at her, almost as if disappointed.

"And here I was thinking that you were the ones in control," he said wearily. "I hope you know that the entire world is relying on you to finish this, even if some of them don't show it. Bad guys get tired too."

She frowned at him. "It's hard to make something from nothing."

"There just… isn't an end to it," she said. "Like we're walking in circles and lost and we both _know_ that war is not solving _anything_ but we stumble on just for the sake of it. There's got to be one last straw… and I tell myself that I can take it and delay it but… sooner or later I'm going to crack and then who'll be there for Harry? For - for Ron?"

She hated the taste of salt in her mouth. Really, she did.

"And sometimes, I think… I think that maybe we should just let Voldemort get Harry and all the muggles and just get it over with. Do you know what it's like to think those kinds of thoughts? About your own best friends and everything you've stood for all your life?"

She sniffed, and was relieved to find that the hysterics had stopped and that she was back to her guarded state.

"It just about kills me."

He wondered if now was a good time to make a break for it. But… no. Running never helped – only made you run harder in the end. He knew that much.

"If it helps, yes."

She turned to him sharply. "What?"

"Yes, I do know what it's like. Do you think we don't have and emotions just because we work for the Dark Lord?"

"Yes, actually, that _is_ what I think." (_heck, I know_)

"I guess Hermione Granger, genius world saviour is wrong about something then, isn't she?"

Somehow, his lips twitched to something resembling a smile.

"I think that all of us know just how screwed up and pointless this war is by now. But maybe we fight on because we want to stay alive, hmm? Because the rules clearly state: kill or die."

Maybe there was an ounce of truth is his words, even if they were only said to buy himself more time. Maybe he was still human. Maybe it was a good thing he was still a snarky git. But still…

"Then how come no one changes the rules?" she whispered throatily.

He glanced up at her sadly. "Because no one's bothered to stop following them."

She felt herself slump against the wall, all fiery energy gone.

"You should just feel lucky you _can_ die," she said weakly. "Believe me, I would if I could. But I'd be a coward to leave wouldn't I?"

It was a well rehearsed speech, she knew that much. How many times had she said it to her mirror? To her wand? To the bottle of pain medication in her bedside cabinet?

"Harry and Ron need me now." She heard herself say. "The world needs them. I'd be a coward to abandon my responsibilities."

He carelessly tossed his empty bottle and it rolled away and knocked into the bin, sending rubbish scattering, along with several stray rats.

"Ms. Granger, always thinking of others…" he muttered. "Ever think that maybe you don't really want to die? It's the instinct of every living creature to thrive as long as possible, you know."

She regarded him with a cool stare. "This isn't thriving. More like a living death, really."

He blew a few strands of hair from his face. "Huh. I think right now I'm closer to… a dead death. Can't be any better than a living death, can it?"

"It might."

She bit her lip and stroked her wand with the tip of her forefinger.

"However… however, I should let you know that I am obligated as an auror, to give second chances. A deal, if you will."

"Let me guess," He broke in nonchalantly, "Something of a win-win situation for you."

"Precisely," she quipped. "You can help us win… or you can die. You'll have to prove your loyalty, of course, and then take an unbreakable vow… and I assume you'll know the basis of that…"

Face darkening, she continued quietly.

"and so now, you've got a choice. Betray your people for your own hide, or take the easy way out. Either way, you'll still be a coward."

He blanched. "I beg your pardon, but I am never a 'coward'."

She frowned and looked at him. "Malfoy, we're all cowards somewhere deep down. I mean, look at you now, hiding in an alleyway half drunk…"

She gently placed a finger under his chin and kneeled down, peering into his darkened eyes.

"And look at me… fully trained auror, afraid to kill a deadly enemy, a former classmate… wishing for an easy way out. The only question is…"

A tear slid down her face, splattering onto his grimy robes.

"…are you man enough to be a coward?"

A childhood prayer ran through the back of her head, a wisp of something that was, even though she'd lost her faith long, long ago. Maybe she needed to hear his answer for the sake of him, as well and for herself, she realized. _(amen)_

And as she searched his eyes, she thought she saw a telltale flicker.

-

_In a small dilapidated corner of St. Mungo's, Ron Weasley opened his eyes for the first time in three years. He looked out of the small window above his bed… and saw a star fall from the sky._

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**A/N:** Okay, okay, so, I've written another angsty fic where someone dies. I'm trying to break the habit, I swear! On another note, I know that this story can be taken either optimistically, or pessimistically, although it was originally written the latter.

I'd really appreciate it if you would give me your intake on the ending.


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